Frost

cold, crisp ground –
across the chilly air
frost flakes dance
___

hot breath steams
bulging muscle halts –
a white horse

Submitted for One Deep Breath

Now And Then

As another year comes to a close, I reflect on the past, try to live in the present, while looking to the future.

Then, when I was younger, I wore thick glasses – it defined how others saw me. Now I wear contact lenses – and I define how I see the world.
Then I was hopelessly running constantly late. Now I am constantly running hopelessly late.
Then I read a lot. Now I read a lot.
Then I wrote letters, then emails. Now I wrte txt msgs.
Then I was gawky and long-limbed. Now I’m long-limbed and less gawky.
Then I held people at arm’s length. Now I work to shorten my arms.
Then I knew nothing of intimacy. Now I have known true intimacy.
Then I had not fully loved. Now I love deeply.
Then I had no limitations. Now I’ve found out I have limits – and decided to ignore them as best I can.
Then I knew what I wanted. Now I am discovering what I want.
Then I knew I could do anything. Now I’m learning I can do whatever is in my heart.
Then I knew I was strong. Now I am finding out I am still here.

Now and then I see life as inconsistent and unfair. Now and then I feel strongly. Now and then I wish emotions didn’t exist. Now and then I am grateful to have felt deeply. Now and then I fail. Now and then I love truly.

I had a chance at my sister’s life once. I turned it down. The stable, secure, predictable life with a house, a Volvo and three children evenly distributed that I saw in that future was not for me. I don't despise it. It is a beautiful life. It was right for her, but it wasn’t what I wanted then, and it isn’t what I want now. I chose a life of unpredictable adventure, and I went and I found it. I wanted to escape the mundane, and I did. Many years later I tried to make my life into hers. It wasn’t right for me so it didn’t work. It is not who I am. I have the life that I chose, and it is what I want – now, and then. For that, I am grateful.

Submitted for Sunday Scribblings: Now and Then

Word of the day: Past

past(2) adj.
1. gone by
2. having existed or occurred in a previous time
3. having formerly occupied a particular position
4. used to describe or relating to the verb tense that is used for an action that took place previously

n.
1. the time before the present and the events that happened then
2. everything that has happened previously to somebody or something
3. a shameful or scandalous earlier period in somebody’s life
4. the past tense of a language, or a verb form in the past tense

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Attenborough - Venus Fly Trap

The Venus Flytrap (Dionaea muscipula) is the most amazingly fascinating plant... you can buy it commercially everywhere - my initial search yielded several online stores specializing in these and other carnivorous plants! However, they are only native to a very small area in North and South Carolina, including the Green Swamp.

Giving

a moment shared
silence passed knowingly
eyes give, receive

Submitted for One Deep Breath

Word of the day: Give

give: a verb used to indicate that somebody presents or delivers something that he or she owns to another person to keep or use it
1. vt to place something that you are holding in the temporary possession of another person
2. vt to allow somebody to have something such as power or a right
3. vt to impart or convey something such as information, advice, or opinions
4. vt to cause somebody to have an idea or impression
5. vt to make somebody experience a particular physical or emotional feeling
6. vt to carry out or perform something in public
7. vt used with nouns referring to physical actions to indicate that the action is being made or done
8. vt to perform an action or service for somebody
9. vt to devote something such as time or effort, or sacrifice something for somebody
10. vt to spend time organizing a social event
11. vt to lead somebody to have a particular understanding about something
12. vt to estimate something at a particular amount or value
13. vi to collapse or break under pressure
14. vt to yield to somebody, or admit that somebody has an advantage or a particular characteristic or ability
15. vt to propose a toast to somebody
16. n the ability or tendency to yield under pressure

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Solstice

Winter solstice is behind us; brighter days ahead. Light to be added incrementally.

Word of the day: Light(1)

light(1) n.
1. the energy producing a sensation of brightness that makes seeing possible
2. a particular kind or quality of brightness
3. an artificial source of illumination, for example, an electric lamp or a candle
4. electromagnetic radiation in the range visible to the human eye, between approximately 4,000 and 7,700 angstroms
5. electromagnetic radiation that has wavelengths of any length
6. the path that light takes, or somebody’s share or access to light
7. the condition of brightness created by the rays of the sun during the day
8. the arrival of the sun’s brightness at the beginning of the day
9. the representation of light or the effect it has in a work of art
10. a signal that controls the movement of traffic
11. general or public notice, attention, or knowledge
12. the manner in which somebody or something is regarded, especially by the public
13. a source of fire, especially a match
14. a glint in somebody’s eye that is taken to indicate a particular mood or expression
15. an entry in the grid of a cryptic crossword
16. somebody’s general ability to see (archaic)
17. a window or other opening in a building, designed to let sunlight in.
See also ancient lights

adj.
1. full of illumination, or relatively well lit
2. of a relatively pale shade
3. served with milk or cream added

v.
1. vti to begin to burn, or cause something to begin to burn
2. vt to illuminate, brighten, or shine on something
3. vt to give somebody’s eyes or face a happy or animated look
4. vt to lead or direct somebody with a source of illumination such as a flashlight

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Meanings/Synonyms:

glow (n.)
beam
brightness
luminosity
daylight
illumination
radiance
darkness (Antonym)

bright (adj.)
sunny
sunlit
dark (Antonym)

start burning (v.)
set alight
set on fire
ignite
strike
extinguish (Antonym)

A Kind of Beauty

glass teardrops

twinkling of a soul’s
secret life

Submitted for One Deep Breath

Fiddle Bow Flies

Feet afoot
Fiddle bow flies
Bass beats
Lighter on top
Dark behind

Rock looks black
Precipitous
Moss slick
Brook sinister
Furious

Falls forward
Full of froth
White rage
Rushes down
Sheer cliff face

Gleaming green
Forest deepens
Light shafts
Reach loftily
Out of mist

Stomping feet
Dancing torsos
Quick glance
Fiddle bow flies
Feet afoot

Sumbitted for Sunday Scribblings prompt: Dance

Word of the day: Dance

dance v.
1. vi to move the feet and body rhythmically, usually in time to music
2. vt to perform or participate in a specified dance
3. vi to leap or skip, especially in an emotional manner
4. vi to bob up and down or move quickly about
5. vt to make somebody dance or lead somebody in a dance
6. vi to talk misleadingly so as to avoid facing an issue squarely (informal)
7. vt to get to a particular state by dancing
8. vi to fail to roll a number that reenters a backgammon piece from the bar

n.
1. a series of rhythmical steps and body movements, usually performed in time to music
2. a session of dancing
3. a party or social gathering for dancing
4. dancing as a performance art
5. a piece of music in the rhythm of a particular type of dance
6. evasive talk (informal)
7. a pattern of animal movements used, for example, in courtship by birds or by bees to give information about food

adj.
relating to, involving, or created for dancing

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

This Too Shall Pass

Weathering the storm.
Waiting for you.

World: Frozen

If trees were human beings, this is what we've seen the last couple of days. Still no power at home or office after 2 days. All over the city, trees, limbs and partial trees on the ground, yards destroyed, power lines down. Sounds of sirens and falling branches, the dark gray sky looming over the damage. Blacked out city blocks, dark intersections with a few randomly lit homes and neighborhoods.

Inch-thick ice coating every tree, bush and leaf of grass. Long, evenly spaced ice sickles fringing every fence and railing. Ice melting; drops dripping.

I am frozen. M is melting. We’ll see what this weekend brings.

Word of the day: Carnage

car·nage n
widespread and indiscriminate slaughter or massacre, especially of human beings

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Meanings/Synonyms:
Killing (n.)
Bloodshed
Slaughter
Massacre
Bloodbath
Butchery

Survival of the Fittest

Sunday Scribblings prompt: Competition

A friend of mine has a theory that rich people become gradually more beautiful and intelligent as a result of natural selection. His hypothesis is that a smart guy, most likely a nerd and not particularly good-looking, has the potential to make a lot of money due to his exceptional faculties. And, my friend continues, everyone knows that rich guys attract beautiful women. One can surmise that their offspring will be a cross-section of the father and the mother, and therefore somewhat better looking and smarter than the average Joe.

Though I chuckle at my friend’s conjecture (he is of course very smart and well-off and is married to a gorgeous woman – my best friend, I might add) I have to admit there is something to it. Personally, I would be far more attracted to the intelligence than the money – or looks for that matter – of a man, but either way, if you look at nature, it is astonishing how certain species have developed particular favorable traits – out of necessity by competition for resources such as sunlight, food, water, and mates.

Competition plays a significant role in many aspects of life. The term “survival of the fittest” was coined by the British philosopher and economist Herbert Spencer after he read Darwin’s Book “Origin of the Species.” It refers simply put to the importance of competition for survival or advancement. The term has been used to explicate topics as diverse as evolution and social Darwinism, to capitalism and anarchy.

An astonishing example of male competition for a mate is the weaverbird. In many species of weavers in Africa and Asia, the males create elaborate nests, which they subsequently parade for the ladies to try to impress them.



Now there’s a case for the guy who is the smartest and savviest – he builds the best abode, ergo he gets the girl! That is a little bit like my friend’s theory – these little weaver guys are sharp enough to realize what it takes to impress the “fittest” ladies: how can you not like a guy who has got the brains and means to care for your safety and comfort?!

Word of the day: Competition

com·pe·ti·tion n.
1. the activity of doing something with the goal of outperforming others or winning something
2. an activity in which people try to do something better than others or win something
3. those against whom one is competing, or the level of opposition they give
4. the struggle between organisms of the same or different species for limited resources such as food or light

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Meanings/Synonyms:

rivalry (n.)
opposition
antagonism
war
struggle
friendship (Antonym)

contest (n.)
fight
clash
struggle
battle

Word of the day: Walk

walk v.
1. vi to move or travel on legs and feet, alternately putting one foot a comfortable distance in front of, or sometimes behind, the other and usually proceeding at a moderate pace.
2. vt to travel along or through something on foot
3. vt to lead or exercise an animal, usually a dog on a leash
4. vt to accompany somebody on foot as far as a particular place such as a home or car
5. vt to help or force somebody to walk by holding and pushing from behind
6. vti to move, or move something, in a way that suggests walking, for example, by pivoting a large heavy object alternately on its corners and swinging the other side forward
7. vt to measure or inspect something by walking over or along it, especially the boundaries of an area or piece of property
8. vi to disappear or be stolen (informal)
9. vi to go out on strike (slang)
10. vi to quit a job, event, or meeting to express disagreement (slang)
11. vi to be released from prison or found innocent of a crime (slang)
12. vi to proceed to first base on four balls
13. vt to allow a batter to go to first base on four balls
14. vi to take more than two steps in basketball without dribbling while holding the ball

n.
1. a journey made on foot, especially for pleasure or exercise
2. the distance traveled or the time it takes to go somewhere on foot
3. a relatively slow-paced way of moving for a horse or other four-legged animal, in which two feet are always on the ground
4. somebody’s characteristic way of walking
5. a place designed or set aside for the use of people on foot
6. a route or path for travelers on foot
7. a track race in which the competitors walk a specified distance
8. an enclosed area for exercising or pasturing domestic animals such as horses
9. a plantation of widely spaced trees or shrubs
10. the space between rows of widely spaced trees or shrubs
11. in baseball, the act of reaching first base on four balls
12. in basketball, an illegal taking of steps while holding the ball
13. something that is very easy to do (informal)

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Meanings/Synonyms:

saunter (v.)
stroll
amble
march
stride
pace
hike
toddle
totter
stagger
move
go

stroll (n.)
saunter
march
amble
hike

gait (n.)
pace
tread

Health: Good

Malaise of the soul is also lifting.

Word of the day: Malaise

mal·aise n.
1. a general feeling of illness or sickness without any specific diagnostic significance
2. a general feeling of worry, discontent, or dissatisfaction, often resulting in lethargy

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Meanings/Synonyms:

depression (v.)
disquiet
dissatisfaction
melancholy
optimism (Antonym)

Volcanic

Haiku prompt: Container

stirring molten rock
subterraneous hum –
feelings unbottled

Word of the day: Stir

stir v.
1. vt to move a spoon, stick, or some other implement through a liquid in order to mix or cool the contents
2. vi to be of a consistency that allows a spoon or other implement to be moved around
3. vti to move gently or cause something to move gently
4. vi to move or leave, especially from a favorite or usual place
5. vi to get up and move about, especially after a rest
6. vt to rouse somebody into action
7. vt to arouse something, for example, an emotion or a memory (formal)
8. vi to begin to be experienced as an emotion (formal)
9. vti to arouse strong emotions in somebody
10. vi to happen or be current (informal)

n
1. an act or instance of stirring a liquid
2. a fervent reaction, usually either excitement or controversy
3. a gentle movement
4. Australia trouble (informal)

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Meanings/Synonyms:

rouse (v.)
wake up
move
budge
shift
get up
get going

awaken (v.)
arouse
revive
stir up
call to mind
bring back

commotion (n.)
disturbance
fuss
to-do
uproar
hue and cry
hullabaloo

motivate (v.)
incite
provoke
excite
inspire
stimulate
fire up
stir up

agitate (v.)
disturb
trouble
upset

mix (v.)
blend
beat
swirl
fold
whip
whisk

Music Alert!

I was studying at Starbucks earlier this evening when I heard the most pleasantly melodic music over the speakers. I asked the attendant who it was. “Kate Tucker & the Sons of Sweden” released their first album a few weeks ago, “a lushly layered record of bright melodies.” I was especially intrigued to read they list as one of their influences Band of Horses, which became one of my favorite bands when I heard their newly released second album, “Cease to Begin.” If you haven’t already – go to iTunes and check them both out – it is well worth it!

“The story goes that Tucker ventured out to Seattle, where she found the band wandering among the old Swedes of Ballard. And so Midwest folk met Northwest indie, finding that the same themes shine through the occasional grey: isolation, hope, transition, communion, green fields, blue skies, and empty hands.”

-from their bio

Arie on Love

“The highest expression of love is to give without expecting (…) to accept without exception.”

–India Arie

All That Jazz

Fables of Faubus
A boy named Mingus
Goodbye, Pork Pie Hat

Voiceless

Silence.
An empty still.
There is only silence.
I reach within and there is nothing.
There is blankness.
Blankness and
Silence.

With you I am content.
There is no need to speak.
Without you I am lost
And words fail me.

Voiceless.
I am silence.
You are words.
A negative charge and a positive one
Attract one another.
Nevertheless, I am
Voiceless.

The Magic of a Photo

On my desktop is a landscape. It is a photo that shows a body of water, a tree trunk, a bunch of grass and flowers, and some hills. Sounds kind of blah, but what if I said this:

It is a quiet afternoon. The grassy riverbank is dotted with tiny yellow lights, surrounding the yin-and-yang torso of a birch tree. Bees busy themselves, barely breaking the silence by their buzzing about the yellow flowers. The earth gives off a scent of grass and drying pine pins. A vanishing hill primps her evergreen hair in the mirror below; the water’s surface has tiny ripples in it, fussing up the vain mountain face. If she is disappointed with this nebulous representation of her beauty, she hides it well and just goes on batting her needly eyelashes. With a toss of her bluish tresses, she holds her head high and reigns placidly above her serene landscape.

Can you feel it now? The photo was taken this last August in the Numedal valley in Norway, along the bank of the Lågen river. Whenever I look at it, I am instantly transported back to that quiet afternoon and the magic scenery surrounding my parents home in the countryside.

I am always amazed at the power of a photograph. Just the sheer fact that a small apparatus can eternalize a single moment, the exact position of a leaf of grass, the minute pattern formed by a gentle breeze breathing on water. The vibrancy of the colors, the haze of the air – it is all there in the photo. But there is more than meets the eye. Embedded in the image are sounds and smells too, you can’t see them, but the image has the power to unlock stored sensory information from the memory of a scene that far surpasses the visual representation by the photo. These sensory details add up to a feeling, a mood, and thus you can relive whole passages of life with astounding accuracy.

Photos are hooks we hang our memories on. Without them, we would still have the memories, but they would all be in a heap on the floor, crumpled and wrinkled, some buried in the bottom of a pile and accessed with difficulty. But with a photo, they are right there, pressed and starched and ready to wear. In an instant.

Cat Scratch Fever!

Cat scratch fever. Ever heard of it?

I had it.

And I’m not referring to the album by Ted Nugent. My severe neglect of the blog recently (thanks to those of you who hung in there and didn’t give up on me!) is due in large part to the fact that I got bitten by a kitten a few months ago. No, it wasn’t Walli or Stormi or even the stray kitten I fostered for a while (who recently met an uncertain fate at the local animal shelter, I am sad to report) – but quite possibly one of her littermates. This was a feral kitten, small enough to be unable to get out of the empty waste can it had gotten stuck in, but big enough to have learned how to utilize all its weapons. As I reached my ungloved hand in to fish it out it out it growled, snarled, then attacked ferociously, again and again.

I, being the macho super(hero)woman I clearly think I am, was not about to be deterred by a few scratches and a couple of puncture wounds and kept at it until I managed to extract my bloody hand while clutching the squirming, furry fleabag. I stuck it in a box and did my duty – deposited the little menace at the local pet store, where a compassionate soul promised to deliver it to the shelter for me (OK, don’t look at me like that – what do you want from me?! I already had three at home at the time in an apartment that only allows two pets, and a husband who was less than thrilled about having the role of zookeeper imposed upon him).

So, back to the story. A couple of weeks after the incident, I had a little bump form on my finger. It wasn’t until much later I realized it was the exact spot where the small beast bit me. I didn’t think much of it, but when I discovered a lump in my armpit while on vacation in Norway another few weeks later, I was naturally alarmed and went to a doctor to get it checked out. He sent me to the hospital for a needle biopsy, but fortunately, all the tests came back negative; they told me it was just an enlarged lymph node, albeit giving no definite answer as to what was causing the enlargement.

The lump kept growing and becoming increasingly painful. Upon returning to the U.S., I went to my primary doc and she diagnosed me with: you guessed it. Cat-Scratch Fever or Cat Scratch Disease (CSD). This is a bacterial infection that is usually introduced by the bite or scratch of a kitten. An inoculation lesion forms on the spot the bacteria was introduced (usually on a finger or hand) and the infection eventually settles in one of the lymph nodes. It is most often seen in children, since they’re more likely to play with kittens (what can I say, I’m such a kid when it comes to animals). The disease is usually benign and typically resolves itself without any medical intervention. The doc sent me home with an antibiotic and instructions to come back if it didn’t get better after two weeks.

After just a few days the shooting pains were getting so intense I called the doc’s office again to see about getting something for the pain. The antibiotic seemed to have no effect whatsoever. She had me come back in and stuck a needle in it to see if there was any liquid. Was there ever. She drained out a huge syringe full of puss! It was nasty. A large abscess had formed and I got a shot of antibiotics, a prescription for a stronger antibiotic, and some pain pills. She also told me she didn’t think this would get any better by itself and recommended removing the whole thing. She called a surgeon who agreed to see me the same day – and he concurred: the thing should come out and fast.

Surgery was scheduled for the following week, and over the weekend the pain became excruciating. The lump was the size of a golf ball now and I walked around with my arm at a funny angle away from my body, as any pressure would intensify the pain. I kept popping pain pills, and the day before the surgery the thing started draining itself. It freaked me out at first as blood started seeping out from the center of the abscess – but when I called the nurse she said it was a good thing. The draining relieved some of the pressure and by the next day the pain was not quite as intense.

The surgery went well, and I am now recovering. Due to the infection in the wound, the surgeon was unable to stitch up the incision because of the risk of contamination that would hinder the wound from closing properly. He closed up one side and left the rest open to drain, and told me it would close up from the inside out. I now have a deep hole under my arm (it looks like someone stabbed me) that is slowly getting shallower and smaller. It sure is taking its sweet time, but at least it is healing. The surgeon suggested that the infection in the lymph node might have been introduced by the needle biopsy I had performed in Norway. He didn’t want to point any fingers, but emphasized that any time you stick a needle in something, there is always the risk of infection.

How’s that for irony? Had I left it alone, most likely it would have resolved itself and disappeared after a while. But I would have been left wondering if it was something serious, and the not knowing can often be worse than knowing something bad. So I chose to mess with it and it turned from something innocuous into something far more severe. But again – had it been something serious to begin with, I am sure I would be glad I had found out at an early stage.

Emotional wounds can work the same way. Just like the tiny bump on my finger was representative of a larger problem within my body, which later was expressed by a much more severe bump, the signs we exhibit on our (sur)faces often diminish the larger truth about our emotional wellbeing.

People can, through no fault of their own, be introduced to an infection of the soul. Sheer proximity can spread the infection to those around, and if there is insufficient space between two individuals, reciprocal infection occurs. Sometimes the pain gets so intense the object of ones infection has to be removed completely, leaving an open hollow to heal from the inside. Hopefully, by the time the empty space has healed up, the object itself has healed too, providing a cleaner environment for healthy interaction.

Heroes and Villains

In Norwegian, we have a saying that goes: Away is good but home is best. After two plus weeks in Scandinavia I am headed home, and although I had a fantastic time, it still feels good to get home and get back to everyday life and those I love on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Having your heart split between two continents isn’t always easy, kind of like being Elastigirl with one leg planted firmly on either side of that great body of water – but it makes for great travel experiences and lots of memory making when you get to cross the gap and go to the other side.

Got to the airport in plenty of time this time, I was through security, sitting at the gate with my notebook and pen making verbal sketches of fellow travelers at least an hour and a half before takeoff. It must be a law of nature how on days you’re early there are no lines either at check-in or security, while when you’re in a hurry, the crowds conspire against you and do everything in their power to stop you from getting to your destination on time. Even in London, in that wretched place called Heathrow Airport I had plenty of time after emerging from that maze of miles of yellow-signed corridors and snaking security lines to eat lunch, send text messages to all my loved ones, read a little and even freshen up before heading through some more mazy lengths of corridor towards the gate an hour before take-off.

I got lucky and was selected for one of those fun-filled searches at the gate where they pick you out at random, pat you down, make you open your bag, turn on your computer, handle your cell phone, look inside the case containing your glasses, and if you’re lucky let you go at that. I was, as I said, lucky, and they didn’t go through every last little compartment of my backpack, makeup case and all. Still, by the time I was done with all that it was almost time to board the aircraft.

Pick-pocketing has apparently grown rampant throughout Scandinavia since I was home last. I noticed warning signs on the subway in Oslo, and the other day in Uppsala, Sweden, I got to experience it first-hand when my sister’s cell phone was nabbed right before our very eyes in broad daylight inside a not so crowded restaurant. And the crazy thing was, we didn’t even notice until 15 minutes later when we were headed out and she realized she didn’t have her phone!

The scumbag put a crumpled hand-written sign down on the table in front of us – expertly covering up her phone from our view – and started begging for money in who-knows-what language. He was extremely persistent, despite our repeated efforts to get him to leave us alone. As soon as he left we all checked if our purses and wallets were intact, but nobody remembered T’s phone that had been laying right there on the table. If I just could get my hands on that dirty scoundrel!

The week in Sweden followed on the heels of the dizzying pace of my Norway experience at a much more leisurely pace, and after two days of resting up I was ready to get up and at’em. But my body didn’t think so, apparently, because just then I was knocked out for an additional two days by a nasty head cold and fever. The afore mentioned lump in my armpit hurt like mad in time with the rising mercury, so I figured it was that enlarged lymph node having some connection with an infection in my carcass. It sure was a relief to get confirmed by the doctor a few days later that the lump was indeed just a regular enlarged lymph node and nothing to worry about. At least that was the preliminary result – some further research is needed to be sure, but that piece of information just made me breathe a little easier.

I crammed four days into the last two and still got to do everything I wanted to do and see everyone I wanted to see and now I feel quite full – not that uncomfortable fullness when you know you’ve overeaten and feel bloated and miserable, but the feeling of pleasure that comes after having eaten a great meal, having satisfied your hunger and enjoyed some fabulous flavors.

Gotta Fly!

Got some time to kill. I missed my morning flight to Stockholm (for those who know me, I’m sure you’re chuckling, shaking your head and thinking how typical of me – and it’s OK, I don’t blame you! ☺). Been a lot of late nights and very little sleep this week. Despite sis and my best efforts at setting two phone alarms and get up, we still managed to oversleep. Got out of the house way too late, the taxi had to take a detour; I just missed an airport shuttle and had to wait another 15 min at the train station. Got to check-in minutes before the flight and they would have let me on had it not been for my enormous suitcase. Had I been willing to leave all my belongings behind I would have made the flight but chose to sit this one out, put the suitcase in storage a bit and re-book for the next flight – about eight hours later. Oy!


Sitting at my favorite hideout: the Deichman Library downtown Oslo. I used to love studying here during high school – there is something about the tall columns, the smell of old books, the skylight, the hushed voices – that makes for a very special atmosphere. Free wireless Internet makes it even nicer!



So here I am, with an unidentified lump in my armpit (went to the Dr. who sent me to a specialist who took out some cells to look at and will give a verdict in about a week or so), an infection on my eyelid, a knot in my stomach and extreme sleep deprivation, but I’m having a blast! Reconnecting with so many old friends and acquaintances this week has been invaluable – thanks all for making my trip so memorable! Yay – got less than five hours left now ☺

Itchy & Scratchy, Connection Issues

It’s hot and stuffy. Lovely temperatures of 70s and lower 80s outside, but still, with no air conditioning inside, with no fans and the afternoon sun beating down the windows, it gets toasty. Dad likes it that way, plus, you can’t open the windows, because the mosquitoes are vicious and huge! They really are as enormous as I remember them as a kid. I guess the last few years we came home we’ve spent the majority of our time in the city and mosquitoes were never really an issue. And at Christmas time when we did come out here to the countryside it was, obviously, wintery cold and also not an issue. I can’t believe I didn’t bring OFF! I thought of bringing some from home as I had a hunch the critters would be a bitch, but forgot all about it. Should have known though… oh well. And, for some strange reason, the Parents don’t keep a drop of bug repellent at the house… they live in a veritable forest by water’s edge – very idyllic, but big-time mosquito country, and don’t have a single de- or anti-bug option available. So the big event this evening was running off to the store in search of bug spray. I searched and searched, and finally asked a clerk who pointed me to a small blue cardboard case and explained apologetically that whatever I could find in there was all that was left. It was slim pickin’s. Some wimpy wipes, a teensy weensy bottle of liquid repellent and a small can of after-bite cooling gel – but no spray. Who’d have thunk it, the only local convenience store deep in Norwegian mosquito territory out of bug spray! I bought one of each of the rather skimpy alternatives and went across the street to the only gas station where I armed myself with a small can of actual OFF in spray form. I paid upwards of $6 for this tiny treasure, but it was worth it – now I can go for a walk with the Mother Figure and stop and take as many photos as I please without being eaten alive!

Another thing that’s weird, is being completely without any cell reception whatsoever. Not even in the little town up the road, where Dad says he always has coverage. Me, nada. Being so used to being so connected in every way all the time and so suddenly being without connection is quite creepy. Creepy how dependent on technology you get, I mean. (Read Jennifer Egan’s “The Keep”). I really had no idea how much it would bother me. In one way I like it – it’s very relaxing in a strangely serene sense, but I feel like I’m having connection withdrawals at times. Electronic detox. Which probably is very good for the soul and healthy in more than one way but still, an adjustment. There’s obviously no wireless internet for my beloved MacBook, but I can check email on Mom’s old, slooooow computer with an even slooooower dial-up, so I get on for a few minutes each day to check email and such. And post here, obviously. And, scene – I think my time’s up. So long!

Anni-Blogiversary

Today is a very special day. Not only am I on this day embarking upon a solitary pilgrimage to the land I was born, it is also my eight wedding anniversary, AND the first anniversary of my blog. I have lived up to my promise of posting scattered and infrequently, and met a lot of very interesting people along the way.

I was inspired by Amelie to pay multi-homage to those who have impacted me over the years:

First of all, to the love of my life, my soul mate: you're the compass to my true self. Without you I'd constantly get lost in this chameleon’s skin. You made it safe to stop being “big strong H” and just be. You will always be my best friend. I love you big bear – happy anniversary!

My very large, very multi-faceted, and very loving family: You are a perpetual inspiration! Dad instilled in me my interest in books and learning, my wanderlust and hunger for adventure, which ultimately led me to my new homeland and my love. Dad, you will always be my hero, even though I haven’t been able to show you how much I appreciate you the last few years. Mom – I keep trying to add more of your sweetness into my life. Nobody knows the pain you have known while putting forth your brood of quality citizens of humanity. I will always love you.

Friends who mean the world to me: Veronique – your porch, not to mention you house ☺ has become my second home… literally. Joy – your vibrancy and artistic vein always inspires me. Claudia – we might not talk every day, but I consider you one of my dearest friends. Renee – your photos and detailed accounts of your happenings remind me of the significance of recording what is important in life. Mona – getting reconnected with such intelligence is an honor.

I want to thank my junior high teacher, Liv Burum for encouraging my writing, even though I was reluctant at the time. Other teachers, starting with Margaret in the 2nd grade, all the way through my years at university, thank you for accepting my late papers and not reducing my grade more than one (sometimes two) letter grades due to tardiness.

I also want to give a shout-out to Nils and Morten for giving me my blogger name and making life a little more interesting growing up, as well as Anne Christine for coming up with the greatest quote of all times.

Last but not least, to my fellow bloggers: Bottom Buzzer – your encouragement of novice bloggers such as myself helped me out a great deal in the beginning. Grete – you always write such thought provoking and reflective texts. Karina – you remind me to look on the bright side. Pearl – I’ve never met anyone more productive – the sheer volume of quality you put out daily blows me away. Buffy – you are an incredible writer and if I some day could come even close to touching what you do I would consider myself an accomplished writer. Can’t wait until your novel comes out!

Honorable mention goes to facebook, for reconnecting me with some of these outstanding individuals.

Thank you, thank you very much.
*taking a bow*

MacLuv

So I just purchased my first Apple computer. This shiny new white MacBook is shimmering before my eyes and inciting my fingertips at the present moment, and the first few hours of familiarizing myself with this sensational object have found me madly in love and pining for all things Mac.

My first introduction to the wonderful world of Apple was my iPod Nano, and after watching Steve Jobs' announcement of the iPhone a few months back I found myself drooling over this piece of technology and considered for the first time switching from PC to Mac - and eventually converting to an all-Mac household.

It is quite unlike me to succumb to seduction by technology; hubby is the gadget-buff in the family and as long as I've had something to run a word processor, internet access and enough storage for a few hundred photos, I've been snug as a bug in a rug as far as computers go. So when my old laptop crashed last year I simply just moved all my files over to one of hubby’s “older” PCs (we always seem to have a plethora of computers and other electronic devices around here) and continued unencumbered.

Well, recently I decided to take a last-minute trip back to Scandinavia next month and realized a laptop would be invaluable for traveling without hubby (who always brings his). The agonizing choice was between a smokin’ alpine white Dell Inspiron (more bang for the buck, compatibility with software, etc.) and the MacBook (added learning curve but enormous coolness factor). After much deliberation I decided to take the plunge into MacWorld, and so far have not regretted it one bit.

One issue I should mention is that apparently, Apple’s browser Safari does not function well with Blogger, but after installing Firefox I don’t seem to have any further problems posting to or editing the blog.

Feathered Friends

feathers fly -
a lump in the road
bloodied

Haiku for One Deep Breath

Shadow and Light

a new day
only comes after night –
be patient
___

the black cat sleeps
outstretched, next to a ball –
the yellow cat
___

moonlight seeps
through tree branch and sheers –
quiet house





for One Deep Breath

Shit Happens

It’s been a while since I updated the blog. There are some reasons for that, even beyond the fact that I’ve always been a pretty random blogger. Some bigger and some smaller reasons, but, well, life happens. Not always the way you want it to happen, but you can’t stop it from happening. So when you’re feeling, like I have been lately, that life stacks up against you and conspires to destroy the things you value most, to shake up the things you’ve always relied upon, to keep just out of reach the things you thought would make you happy, well, then the question becomes how do you respond. Do you let the life bulldozer roll over you and flatten you into the ground, or do you stand up and fight? I am determined to take life by the horns and wrestle with it until I know what it is I am fighting for, until I have regained some ground under my feet and realigned my priorities. I cannot rely on someone or something else for my happiness; I have to find that within myself. Life is for the taking, and even if circumstances seem out of my control at times, I think I’m better off just letting go. Not letting go of the circumstances, but letting go of the need to control them. Because I can’t, and it seems the harder I try to keep them in control, the more out of control they get. What I can control is me and my own responses. Where is that happy balance between being in touch with your feelings, and still not letting your feelings rule your life? I sometimes miss that strong, independent person I once was, but I know that person was also very walled off and out of touch with her emotions. Lately it’s been like I’m wearing my emotions on my sleeve, and instead of me being in control of my life, my emotions threaten to control me. It is time to come back to center. To let myself feel, but not let the feelings kick my butt. To find strength from within, but not shut off to the outside world. This is my quest; I’ve always enjoyed a challenge, so here we go!

Lunch

The fast-food clerk scowled through large, dark-rimmed glasses. Her eyes were a peculiar shape, one slanting up, and the other down in a strange, cock-eyed expression. Her underbite was accentuated by hot pink lipstick glaring angrily out between fleshy bulldog cheeks that quivered like jello when she moved.

Her dark hair, gray at the temples, was tucked into her uniform ball cap in front and fanned out into a frizzy wad in the back. Black polyester pants were stretched tautly over her odd shape – she had one of those wondrous backsides that look like shelves stick out at either side below a relatively small waist. She moved with the speed of a snail and never looked anyone in the eyes.

Stray Affections

She preferred animals over humans.

Their uncomplicated acceptance and unquestioning loyalty put her at ease. Animals were easy to be around, to simply be, around. She could be her plain, boring self, not have to try to impress or please or be something interesting or loveable. She gave them food so they loved her; she was the provider so they looked to her. Simple as that.

What she provided wasn’t difficult to give, only basic nutrition and her physical presence. No intricate emotional support or meaningful words were necessary. In fact, the choice of words was glaringly indifferent to them, so long as the tone was soothing and familiar. Animals loved her for who she was, not who she wanted to be or wished she could be. Animals gave comfort, warmth and softness, and a sense of being needed, being trusted and included.

Humans, on the other hand, were the opposite of all this. To humans she had to prove herself, or else choose to be alone, not part of the group, an outsider. Which she usually did, as she didn’t have the energy or will to work that hard to fit in. She had decided long ago that anyone who didn’t care to be her friend simply because of who she was, were not worthy of being her friend anyway. So she spent most of her time alone.

Animals were low maintenance. This was another reason she liked them. It was also the reason why, when it was strictly necessary to interact with humans, she preferred boys. Girls were too complicated. Their noxious gossiping, scheming and teeming made her nauseous. Boys could be callous, but not cruel. At least boys were pretty straightforward and could be talked to about science and do lab experiments without squealing when dissecting things.

Always one for the underdog or -cat, she befriended those humans lowest on the social totem pole. She found them to be much more interesting company than the constantly clambering-towards-the-top-by-stepping-on-others cool kids.

Down in the lower social strata existed a fascinating blend of eccentrics, intellectuals, and outcasts. Humans of mottled appearance and eclectic intelligence appealed to her much more than the suave empty-headedness of the social royalty. Much like the scraggly dogs, cats, birds and rodents she surrounded herself with, her human acquaintances were not exactly show dogs – more like strays of un-plumbed potential.

Entered for this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt: Eccentricity.

(Wild)flowers

cool blue cornflowers
offset the harvest white wheat –
red-hot poppies nod



dirt and daisies –
delicate blend
of night and day

Haiku entry for One Deep Breath - Week 55

Photos courtesy of Wikipedia

Strange Sounds - Part 4

Continued: M and I decided another cat might be good for her. I didn’t give it all that much thought until one day…

The Storm Cat

I first saw it under the storm cellar door. Evidently, it had gotten trapped there, and was meowing like crazy, just like Walli did when she was stuck in that wall.

It was about six months after I had rescued Walli, and when I got to work I heard the same sound of a kitten in distress. But the sound came from the outside this time, so when I was unable to immediately pinpoint the origin of the sound, I entered the office and went about my work thinking it was noting, a kitten calling for its momma from wherever she had hid her litter. I had seen a few strays around, but they were extremely aloof and adept at not being found.

When I left for lunch a little later, I heard the sound again. A few hours had passed and I realized this kitten must be trapped somewhere.

There was a small storm shelter on the property, a simple wood door in the ground. I realized I had never looked inside, and decided to check it out. A few concrete steps led down to a tiny square in the ground, occupied solely by an old folding chair.

And there on the top step, staring straight into my eyes was one of the strangest and most adorable little beings I had ever encountered. It was black with flecks of tan and red spattered across it body, as if Jack the Dripper had flicked his brushes at it. The tiny face was all eyes, wide open and perfectly round, staring in stunned fear.



Suddenly, the trance was broken and it took off running like a squirrel, the little legs moving faster than I thought possible. It ran straight into a chain-link fence, tumbled from the impact, got up, through the fence and vanished.

I just sat there for a few minutes, staring, vaguely wishing I had grabbed it while still on the stairs, but I couldn’t have caught it if I tried.

Continued…

Haiku Practice

discovered haiku
small poems with big meaning –
on a rainy day
___

dark sky shatters
rips at the seams –
afterwards gold
___

one little kitten –
the two larger specimen
watch suspiciously
___

sleep finds me
resistance is futile –
going now
___

Office Doldrums

My very first attempts at haiku - thanks to Crafty Green Poet for helping me get started, and to One Deep Breath which celebrates its first birthday with a free theme this week!



thoughts scatter
in every direction -
fog settles
____________

low pressure clouds
humid air weighs heavily -
office dust swirls

Tiny Tiger

This amazing creature has recently entered our home.


All In A Day

Spindly, shaky legs
walking tentatively
Mitted front paw swipes
at something and misses
Ball of fur tumbles,
falls, rolls over again

Tail straight up,
steady does it
Bends at white tip,
a flag atop a pole
Teeny rudder flag
erratic balance keeps

Face in dish,
paw on food
Slopping and sopping
and sneezing and snorting
Eating so intensely
in familiar feline fashion

Heavy, languid lids
blinking slower
Motor smoothly runs
Paws reach out placidly
Drunk from touch
a tiny tiger dreams

Boobs and Eyeballs

I was discovered in the fourth grade. Not as a fashion model, that came later. Way later. I mean I was discovered by boys. Not the way you might think, though, the way other girls were discovered for sprouting boobs – bodies budding faster than an ornamental pear tree in spring. Nope. I was flatter than a board in that department, a bony, skinny twig of a girl, but I got these glasses that year which served a dual purpose – to see and be seen. (You can read more about that in How I Became a Nerd.)

Instead of sprouting boobs, I sprouted arms and legs longer than from here to the moon. In junior high, when the other girls stopped growing is when my growth spurt really took off. Trouble was, most of the boys hadn’t hit theirs yet. I was given plenty of attention from boys, only not the kind I wanted.

My body was being stretched like a rubber band, pulled in every direction by the force of mitosis. I used to want to be just like my Dad and as a kid I told everyone I wanted to be as tall as him, too. Considering Dad being 6’4” and all, I suddenly came to my senses and told God I didn’t mean that, and would he please stop making me grow now.

I tried eating tons of food to gain weight but it only seemed to make my legs longer and my non-existing curves flatter.

Even my eyeballs stretched. That is what the eye doctor said was the reason for my excessive myopia, or nearsightedness: my eyeballs were too long. Come on! I mean, give me a break already! The light beams which are supposed to meet on the retina to produce a focused image at the back of the eye meet too soon causing a blurry image on the retina. This in turn, causes a nearsighted person to be unable to see clearly at a distance. Only in my case, a distance means about two inches away from my face. Seriously. I take my contact lenses out and I can’t clearly see my hand in front of me, let alone my face in the mirror.

It is really quite fascinating. You think you’re a somewhat highly functioning individual, and get these sudden flashes of realization that if it weren’t for advances within optometry, you’d pretty much go through life as a visually impaired, legally blind blonde.

So here I was with my overdeveloped eyeballs and underdeveloped boobs, when one day, a girl in my class exclaimed:

“You’re so skinny you don’t even have a butt – only a hole in your back.”

Wow. A hole in your back. And you wonder why the boys aren’t swarming.

Here We Go – Again…

The last couple of Wednesdays I have been posting a series of continuing posts about how I acquired my cats, Walli and Stormi. Yesterday I intended to post Part 3, but was simply too tired.

Why, you ask? Well… after I had spent some time crawling around in an old, dusty attic fishing for kittens, taken one to the vet, then bathed and combed and picked fleas off of it for a couple of hours, I just couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.

I’ve been hearing kittens in the wall of the old house I work in for a couple of weeks now and suspected the calico Momma who used to hang around there had come back to have another litter. Sometime in the afternoon I heard a swooshy sliding noise, and not long after a kitten started crying. It was déjà vu all over again! I could clearly hear it from inside the wall – the same wall where I found Walli, just a different section this time.

So I grabbed a ladder, kicked my heels off and climbed up into the attic armed with a flash light and a towel. As soon as I got up there and started shining the light around I saw two tiny kittens blinking confused into the beam of my flashlight. One of them acted all tough and put up a big threatening show of hissing and snarling. I lifted an air duct tube and a third scuttled away.

But the crying persisted, and I knew there was a fourth stuck somewhere still. By following the sound, I was able to locate the spot where the little one had fallen in, and when I held the flashlight way down the crevice I could see a little ball of gray fur. It was too far down. I lowered the towel as far as it would go, but it didn’t reach by a long shot. This was in a particularly narrow and obstructed part of the attic, and I had to give up. I grabbed the little feisty one and headed down to call animal control.

Fred from the local animal shelter (the guy who fished out Walli last year) came out with a long flexible pole with a noose and rummaged around for quite some time. After about half an hour he finally emerged with this most adorable little gray/red and white tabby!

I couldn’t help myself from taking her home… I know I can’t keep her (hubby keeps telling me that too, and I say “yes, of course” and secretly plot ways of figuring out how to make a small apartment full of two very tall adult humans and two very active cats not seem crowded with yet another family member). Fred took the angry little torti down to the shelter where he said he has a Momma cat that lost some of her kittens.

Meanwhile, I get to coax a very frightened but hungry little baby cat into eating on her own and grow big enough to be adopted by some nice family.

Strange Sounds - Part 3

Continued: A curious thing I learned during the bottle feeding stage is that cat babies don’t know how to go to the bathroom.

Growing Pains

I noticed she wasn’t using the litter box, and looked it up. Sure enough. I had to rub her tiny butt with a wash cloth to simulate the Momma’s tongue. This would trigger a certain reflex, and like a tube of toothpaste she’d squirt out astounding amounts of brown matter. But it only took a couple of tries of putting her in the litter box, making pawing motions with her front paws in the litter, before she mastered the task herself.

Walli grew like crazy and the more she grew, the more her fiery red-head personality established itself. She loved to kill her tiger toy, and wrestle down our hands and anything else she’d get her paws on. She loved her fishing toy and would jump several feet up in the air to catch it.


Walli and Tiger Toy

She took to stalking my feet and hunting them, literally climbing up my bare legs when she “caught” me. This was in the summertime and I lived in shorts and capri pants, so my ankles and calves were a streaky, bloody mess for weeks.

Walli on the attack - showing off those little claws

Gradually she gained control of her claw usage. But no sooner had she stopped scratching me to pieces before she discovered another weapon. Our little red-head would be the most loving creature – she would purr loudly as soon as you as much as touched her, and curl up on your lap being sweet as can be for any length of time. Only to suddenly turn around and attack your hand with her teeth. Great.

These “attack-the-hand-that-pets-you” games became more and more frequent and intense. I could tell she really enjoyed them, too. She’d size me up from a distance, and then out of the blue she’d attack and bite. This started getting annoying, especially since she was incredibly affectionate – when she wanted to be.

The vet told me later this is fairly common behavior in “bottle babies” as they don’t have other cats to socialize them and teach them appropriate cat behavior. As she spent most days alone while we were at work, by the time we’d get home, she would be completely starved for attention.

M and I decided another cat might be good for her. I didn’t give it all that much thought until one day…

Continued…

Happy Hatters – Enjoying the Simple Life

This week's theme for Sunday Scribblings is "simple."

Been digging in old photo albums lately… came across this one of my sister R and I. I’m the one on the left in the green jacket. I was probably about 4 years old, so she must be 3. The smiling guy in the background is our proud Daddy.

I just love the colors in this shot… and I love hats like that! I have a small collection of them and wear them often. Seems like my obsession with hats, clothes and colors got an early start – apparently, I had a keen fashion sense back then. Grandma sewed my jacket – it had matching overalls, too.

The picture is taken at our “cabin” in rural Norway. The cabin was actually a small farmstead that had been in my family for generations, a place to come to escape the bustle of the city and enjoy a simpler life. My father, who wore suits and ties most days couldn’t wait to come out there, roll up his sleeves, don work boots and -gloves and cut the grass with a scythe (the ground was too rocky for a regular mower). He would take his chain saw and cut down trees and chop wood. He would make repairs to the outbuildings and renovate the main house. One year, we dug a cellar beneath the kitchen floor.

I spent every summer of my life from the year I was born until my late teens at that cabin. For us kids coming there meant long carefree days roaming the countryside exploring the steep, rocky landscape, building forts, and swimming in the icy river.

The river was accessible by a trek across a field, through a dense wooded area, down a sheer cliff wall that some ancestor had once picked rudimentary steps into, across some train tracks and finally through a patch of heavy brush. The water was always so cold it made your pulse race and your legs ache, but if you could just force yourself to duck, and keep your body submerged for a few minutes, you almost got used to it.

We would pick berries and crush them with sugar for fresh jam with the next meal. We ate countless slices of bread with raspberry and blueberry jam that we had fixed ourselves.

R and I spent several summers working at a neighboring farm picking strawberries. This was the best summer job ever! We would ride our bikes there at about 7 in the morning – it was downhill all the way, so we picked up a ferocious speed. We would spend the next four hours picking (and eating!) the sweet berries as fast as our hands could move. You got paid by the basket, so it was up to you how much money you could make. I got pretty good after a while, and made what to my young mind seemed a fortune at the time. At 11am we would be done for the day, ride (read: walk) our bikes back up all the hills and have the rest of the day off to do whatever came to mind.

Part of the charm of coming to the cabin was the peculiar outfits we wore. Our “cabin clothes” were old hand-me-downs of uniquely strange appearance and ambiguous origin, and a vast stash of old rain boots and other shoes of assorted purpose. We threw on whatever was handy without a thought of what matched – in fact, the more it didn’t match the better – and were free to climb trees and cliffs and explore all day long without having to worry about ruining our clothes.

To my sisters and me the simple life was epitomized by our very own eclectic sense of carefree style for a few weeks every year.

Strange Sounds - Part 2

…Continued: Realizing the company owners had just spent a considerable amount of money renovating the place, the thought of cutting a hole in the wall seemed catastrophic.

The Rescue

I called the owners and it turned out they already had a call in to the city animal control office. Someone was expected to come out soon.

I waited and waited. The kitten’s cries got weaker, as if it were exhausted. Then they ended completely. I had visions of a dead cat trapped inside the wall for months, and imagined the ensuing dead animal odor. I could see myself trying to work amongst the rank vapors that would undoubtedly interfere with my ability to concentrate.

The crying started again with renewed vigor. Apparently, the little feller had just been napping. I decided that if this little guy got out of that wall alive, I would take it home and name it Wally.

Someone finally showed up from the animal shelter and climbed up into the attic. The Momma cat had apparently had her babies up there, and this little guy had fallen into a crevice and gotten stuck between the wall panels. The man fished it out by lowering a dish towel that it clawed on to, and came back downstairs with a tiny red tabby kitten – screaming off the top of its lungs! He explained how it had been trying to climb up to him, gotten almost all the way up, and then fallen back down – over and over again.

I later found out it was a female, but the name Walli stuck. She was estimated to be only about 4 weeks old and apparently not even weaned, since she had no idea what to do with cat food. But she sure was hungry! She had the strongest voice I have ever heard in a kitten, and cried and cried for food and for her Momma. So I bought some cat formula and fed her with a tiny bottle the first few days.

She quickly learned how to lap out of a bowl, and was eating regular cat food in no time.

A curious thing I learned during the bottle feeding stage is that cat babies don’t know how to go to the bathroom.

Continued…

Quick Birdie Update

For those of you who have been following my balcony hatchlings, here is the current status report:



May 10: Cats nap while thunder rolls and lightning strikes.


I find dove’s nest abandoned by Mother Dover, who I so far have never seen away from nest. Did she get caught in the rain?


Minutes later rain subsides and Mother is back; feathers wet but fine otherwise. (Click on the image for larger version)


May 12: Great growth spurt



May 13: Big brother became a giant overnight


May 14: One-under-par. One birdie to go.


Mother still keeps watch


May 16: Empty nest syndrome